We close our eyes and reach with all our might for that familiar sensation that light driving brings, the feeling of slipping between moments and finding our way to a brand spanking new reality—not necessarily a better one, either.
I concentrate on Whitehorse, on our children, on the life we’re supposed to be living, the takeout I’m going to call in with a vengeance once I’m snuggled up on my nice comfy sofa.
And horrifyingly enough, nothing happens. Nada, zero,zilch.
We try again, both of us practically vibrating with the effort of trying to rip through whatever cosmic duct tape is keeping us stuck in teenage purgatory. And I have a feeling that duct tape’s name is Candace Messenger.
Still nothing. We might as well be trying to walk through concrete.
“Logan,” I hiss, opening my eyes to find him staring at me with the same dawning horror that’s currently eating me alive.
“We’re stuck,” he says, like saying it out loud might make it less true.
“We need Candace,” I say, the words tasting like celestial battery acid in my mouth. “Like, yesterday.”
Because being trapped in the past while everyone’s futures unravel like a cheap sweater? That’s not just terrifying—it’s the kind of cosmic disaster that ends with everyone we love either never existing or wishing they didn’t.
23
Logan
The crash of pins echoes through the bowling alley like thunder, and I can’t shake the feeling that each strike is counting down to something we can’t stop.
I sit at the picnic table long after Skyla takes off, watching families and teenagers bowl like the world isn’t falling apart. They have no idea that the person sitting at this very table just discovered they’re a prisoner in their own past.
I wish I could get in touch with Candace, but that’s not how she operates. Candace contacts you, not the other way around. She’s somewhere in the heavenlies doing whatever a Caelestis does when they’re not meddling in their daughter’s life. Probably chewing out Demetri for the hell of it, completely unaware that her little anchor experiment has turned into a full-scale disaster.
“Everything okay, boss?”
I look up to find Brielle hovering nearby with an easy grin, a dish towel slung over her shoulder and nacho cheese somehow splattered on her shirt. She’s probably wondering why I’m sittinghere alone, looking like I just watched my future get canceled. The irony isn’t lost on me.
“Yeah, just thinking through some stuff,” I lie. Standard teenage problems—homework, girls, accidentally breaking the space-time continuum. “How are we doing with those birthday parties?”
“Pretty good. Got all three set up and ready to go, and I finished restocking the nacho station.” Brielle glances toward the arcade where Drake’s motorcycle gang is still holding court. “Speaking of which, I was thinking maybe I could take my break when Razor leaves so I can accidentally on purpose bump into him in the parking lot.”
“Bree, that’s called stalking.”
“That’s called romance,” she protests. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“You could end up on a missing persons poster.”
“Or I could end up on the back of his motorcycle, riding into the sunset toward my destiny.” She sighs dreamily. “Sometimes you have to take risks for love, Logan. When is the last time you did something spontaneous for someone you cared about?”
Oh, I don’t know, I just recently agreed to an anchor ceremony that turned into a prison sentence. Romance at its finest.
I shake my head at her. “Keep an eye on the front desk, will you? And maybe hold off on the parking lot ambush until we close.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “Your loss. But when Razor and I have matching leather jackets and coordinating felonies, you’ll wish you’d been more supportive.” She grins. “I’m kidding about the felonies. Mostly.”
The felonies Bree is yet to commit are rather familiar to me, unlike that razor blade waiting to saw into her existence.
She bounces back toward the kitchen, and I’m alone again with the sounds of pins crashing and teenagers celebrating their mediocre bowling skills.
I wish I could reach Candace. I need to. She got us into this mess—she should be the one to get us out. But celestial beings onlyshow up when they want something, never when you’re drowning in the disaster they created.
The thing that’s eating at me isn’t just being stuck here. It’s what Gage said about expanding his horizons, about dating Chloe. In our original timeline, that never happened. Gage pined, he brooded, he waited—but he never went nuclear and chose Chloe Bishop as his psychotic rebound.
Which means we’re not just changing little things. We’re changing fundamental pieces of who people are. We’re not time travelers anymore—we’re personality assassins. Every conversation we have murders who someone was supposed to be. But sure, let’s keep trusting the process. The process that’s currently turning everyone we love into their own evil twins.
